


A ode to Visage

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck
Genre: A new way of looking at a old god, Alternia, a poem(?), a very short story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-19
Updated: 2018-08-19
Packaged: 2019-06-29 19:58:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15736335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: The Signless was a man too, and trolls had seen his preaches instead of his nowaday echoes.You find a old scripture, banned from both worlds, Alternia and The cult of Signless.You read what it sings.(A tale from a forgotten follower of the Signless)





	A ode to Visage

**Author's Note:**

> When did we get so lost? How did we make a man a god? I'm not sure, but I'll be damned if I'm complaining.

I find it insane that someone whose stance like his can be broken, that he can be harmed so easily. 

Up there in front of hundreds with one hand on his heart and another paused in the air, his smooth careful words quiet across heads but loud in meaning and touching us all to our rotten flesh and bones, souls touched and his grip strong.  
He told us soft promises and our minds grew stronger. He looked so godly, he was no mortal in those moments.  
I attended every preaching.

He was beautiful, but not in a way that was romantic. He just looked like someone special, someone who would change something. Perhaps that's why he was so alluring, other than his sparkling words. It causes great pain just for his name to be written as a prefix to was. Was. Was. Was. Was is all he ever was and ever shall be.

His visage was wrecked with his hands stolen from his promise and wrapped in burning chains, his screams echoing broken promises. The untouchable had become stationary. His blood drips across the ground and reaches our cores, he lost it all but gained the truth. His straight back was whipped, his soft cloak ripped from all of his adventures and their tales untold was gone, and his eyes that spoke so many words are closed and his mouth gaping in a snarl to the heavens. He curses the present, the past, the future, but never us.

She watches with a shadow reaching to the hells and a mouth twisting with the color of blood from every caste.

He just exists now. With his energy draining but his voice striking like thunder, he prays. Not to a deity, but to us. He preaches one last time, where a normal man would beg.

His last words, he forgives.

He dies like any man, and he leaves behind loved ones like any mortals.  
But instead of ruining our visage of our savior to a broken man, we make him a god.  
He looses all that is holy but gains everything in its stead, broken but whole. 

And a broken man, he is.

-Written by Unknown  
(A follower)

 

(banned in Alternia)


End file.
